The elevator stops at the top floor and Charles points the gun at me again. “Get out and walk straight through the foyer.”
I do as I’m told, looking around the swanky penthouse as I walk. Everything is stark and modern, with random artifacts displayed on pedestals, protected from human contact with thick glass. This place looks more like a museum than a house, and it’s just as cold as one. There’s nothing homey or welcoming about it, which fits Mr. Trent perfectly.
“The second door on the left.” Charles stops and points to it. “Go in and get yourself cleaned up. You have three minutes.”
I step into the bathroom, and the door shuts behind me as soon as I do. Right away, I comb everything over. I need to get these cuffs off, but I don’t know how. There’s not even a keyhole to try and pick. The bathroom is empty and looks like something that should be attached to a hospital room, not a fancy top-floor apartment. There’s a toilet and a small sink with no mirror above it. The single showerhead is on the wall next to the toilet, and the drain is in the middle of the floor. There’s not even a shower curtain or a toilet paper holder.
I turn on the sink to warm up the water and drop down to my knees, trying to look behind the sink for any sort of plumbing I could rip apart and use as a weapon. But I can’t, because the entire thing is encased in white plastic. I’ve been inside psych wards more than once to question people involved in a case.
And this is exactly what this bathroom reminds me of. There’s absolutely nothing in here that could be easily removed or ripped off. No shower curtain because they pose a risk for self harmers. No toilet paper holder that could be taken apart and used to cut oneself with. No mirror because glass breaks easily. There’s only the necessities.
I wash as much blood as I can off my face, watching the red water run down the drain. Carefully, I reach up and feel my head, checking for more wounds. My fingers run over what feels like broken glass embedded in my hairline, and it hurts so much it causes me to whimper in pain. I bring my head down to the sink and run warm water over it, hoping it will help flush some of the glass out.
It doesn’t.
After using the bathroom, I go back to the door and push it open. Charles is there holding a towel. He hands it to me and I blot up my face. Fresh blood runs down my forehead.
“Hold the towel over your wounds,” Charles tells me. “Mr. Trent likes a clean house.”
Gently holding the towel against my forehead, I follow him down another hall and into a corner room. Like the bathroom, this room is pretty much empty except for a small bed in the corner. Large floor-to-ceiling windows take up the wall farthest from me, offering a breathtaking view of the city.
Rachel sits on the foot of the bed, hands on her knees as she stares out at the city below.
“Ms. Bisset needs tending,” Charles says, and Rachel slowly turns around and nods. “Have a seat, Ms. Bisset.” Charles pushes me forward and steps back. Rachel stands, and my gaze goes to her wrists. She’s wearing handcuffs.
Her powers are bound too.
I sit on the edge of the bed and lower the towel. Rachel hardly reacts to the sight of blood. She turns, waiting for Charles to take off her handcuffs. She rubs her wrists once they’re off, leading me to believe she wears them all the time when she’s not out doing Trent’s bidding.
Charles puts an old-fashioned looking doctor’s bag on the bed. Without a word, she opens it and pulls out gauze and tweezers and starts picking glass out of my head. I close my eyes and grit my teeth until she’s finished. She puts a bandage over my cuts, gently smoothing it out.
“Thanks,” I tell her, and she looks surprised, as if no one shows her kindness anymore. “I’ll get you out of here,” I whisper. “And the others. How many are there.”
Her eyes widen a bit and she looks at Charles, too afraid to speak.
“Are you done?” Charles asks. He’s been standing in the doorway the whole time, watching.
“Yes.” Rachel steps back, puts the tweezers back in the bag, and holds out her arms, waiting to be recuffed. This is so fucked up. Charles takes the bag and then my arm, tugging me up.
“Come along, Ms. Bisset.” I stand and start to walk out.
“Four,” Rachel says when I’m almost to the door. I whirl around and her blue eyes are full of fear.
“What was that?” Charles asks.
“Four,” Rachel repeats, and I know exactly what she’s talking about. There are four other magical children here. I have my work cut out for me. “She had four pieces of glass in her head.”
“I neither need to know nor care,” Charles says. I steal one last glance at the horizon before I leave. The sun has officially set. “Back to Mr. Trent’s office,” Charles tells me. “And dear, it would be in your best interest to tell him where the runes are. Mr. Trent has a way of getting what he wants one way or another.”
“I don’t know where they are,” I press. Charles ignores me and points the gun in my direction. With a huff, I continue down the hall and into the elevator, going back to Mr. Trent’s office. Charles stops outside the door, waiting for me to go in first.
As soon as I set foot inside, something rushes through the door and slams into me. I fly backwards into a wall and my head goes back, hitting a picture frame with a sickening thud. The frame comes off the wall and crashes to the ground. Broken glass shatters around my feet.
Before I have time to gather my composure, I’m hit hard in the stomach. I fall to the ground, and the broken glass bites into the palms of my hands. The same black shadow advances again, shoving me over and kicking me in the ribs.
I cry out, pain radiating through my entire body. Every breath hurts. If my ribs weren’t broken before, they are now.
“Pretty cool, huh?” Mr. Trent’s voice comes from the shadow figure. He pulls off an amulet and his body comes back into view. “I found this beauty in Japan nearly twenty years ago. Comes in handy every now and then. Want me to try it out again?”
